


Bag End, Home Always

by AlexStone



Series: Tolkientober [21]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Hallucinations, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Tolkientober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: "And so it was. Bag End, for a moment, became the home it always had been. It was home for those who lived in its walls, for those who saw its door, for those who knew of it in stories. In years to come, Bag End would echo with the selfsame kindness, and love, and care, that existed between those two hobbits who found family in the most unlikely of places. For Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, this was all they had ever needed, and it was this moment they would cherish, that night and all nights that came to pass."
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Frodo Baggins, Frodo Baggins/Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck/Éowyn
Series: Tolkientober [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948141
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Bag End, Home Always

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkientober Day 30 - 'Home'
> 
> The final piece in my Tolkientober series. This has been an amazing experience, and I'm proud of myself for completing it. This is a piece of happiness that I would hope for everyone. Thank you to MollyKnox for generating the prompts for Tolkientober, and for everyone who created and shared content this month. 
> 
> Note - There is a subtle nod to how I interpret Bagginshield in my earlier fic 'The First Rule.' These fics can be read independently.

Sam rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. He blinked a few times, and reached to clear his mess of blonde curls from his face. “Wow. I mean. Wow,” he panted, looking over to Frodo, “that was… wow.”

Frodo rolled across the bed to rest his arms on Sam’s chest. “I’ve been planning this dinner party for a week, Sam,” he explained, in-between kisses, “this was stress relief.”

“It certainly was relieving,” Sam wiped sweat from his brow and scooped Frodo into a huge embrace, “I just haven’t seen you do… _that_ in a while.”

Frodo tossed his hair in a pitch-perfect impression of Pippin. “Mister Gardner, you bring out the best in a lady.”

They laughed and lay with each other. Bag End was dusted and prepared for tonight’s celebrations. Bilbo was arriving from Rivendell to spend the week, and had demanded a welcoming fit for the original master of Bag End. Frodo stood from the bed, feeling Sam’s eyes admiring his body, and began to get dressed. Bilbo was scheduled to arrive first, but he had a suspicion that Merry and Éowyn would have an excuse to be early.

Sam crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Frodo. Two children had transformed Sam’s body almost as much as they had transformed Rosie. His arms were wider now, less defined than in his gardening prime, and he had regained the weight that he had lost during their travel to Mordor. A shadow of stubble had begun to appear on his face, which turned Sam into an almost spitting image of Hamfast Gamgee.

The Shire spilled golden afternoon light through the open doors and windows. Sam helped Frodo rearrange the furniture to create a clear path for Éowyn to move through. The last Bag End party had resulted in Éowyn knocking over a century old grandfather clock. Despite Frodo’s protestations that the clock wasn’t important, and that it was an honest accident, he felt like he should put a bit more effort to making Éowyn feel welcome.

Sam was putting pies into the oven when Merry and Éowyn arrived. Frodo silently congratulated himself for remembering his cousins inability to read an RSVP. Frodo directed them to the porch, where he served lemonade amongst the garden. Hobbiton unfurled in front of them like a thick carpet, with smoke rising from chimneys into the hazy air.

Rosie arrived next, her sundress wrapped easily around her pregnant body. She kissed Frodo on the cheek and made a subtle gesture that Frodo should hide something on his neck.

“You’re kidding me,” Frodo muttered, feeling the hot patch on his neck from where Sam had kissed him.

“Our Sam can be… enthusiastic,” Rosie grinned, “just put some ice on, it’ll be gone soon enough.”

“Are you two talking about me?” Sam called from the kitchen.

“Samwise Gamgee, are you going to let your wife, who I will add is pregnant, stand in this hallway?” Frodo called, winking at Rosie.

Sam hurried through, tea-towel draped over his shoulder. He took Rosie by the hand and gingerly led her through to the dining room. Rosie turned to Frodo and gave him a thumbs up. Frodo shook his head. Rosie brought out something beautiful in Sam, a caring love that filled them both and overflowed. If all the joy in all the world were laid at his feet, Frodo knew he could not find a happiness such as this.

“He’s here!” Merry called, “Bilbo is here!”

Frodo hurried to the garden to see Bilbo led down the path by Pippin. Pippin was wearing an ochre coat that he buttoned against his chest, with matching heels that clipped the cobbled Hobbiton paths. Bilbo looked smaller than Frodo remembered. It is a sharp pain, to see someone age before your very eyes. Yet, on this day, Bilbo seemed animated and sharp, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he joked with Pippin.

Frodo hurried to embrace Bilbo, joined soon after by Éowyn and Merry. Bilbo explained how Pippin had collected him from Bree, and had arranged a carriage to bring them to Hobbiton. He winked at Pippin as he told Frodo about the shots they had taken in Green Dragon while en route.

“Mister Took knows how to treat a senior citizen,” Bilbo chuckled, continuing arm-in-arm with Frodo, “now, let’s see the damage. What have you done to my baby?”

“I respect the hustle,” Pippin said, taking Merry’s lemonade and sipping it, “and no one has had hustle since Bilbo Baggins.”

“We have your old room ready,” Frodo explained, leading Bilbo into Bag End, “I’ve cleared the master bathroom for you, and the study is just as you left it."

“Frodo! I’m old, not senile,” Bilbo tutted, straightening a frame on the wall with his walking stick, “I don’t need you to coddle me.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Rosie said, approaching Bilbo and kissing him on both cheeks, “I’ve told Frodo that he must bring you to Bagshot Row tomorrow to meet the children.”

Rosie led Bilbo into the dining room where Sam had prepared a seat at the head of the table. Finally together, Frodo announced that dinner was ready to be served. They crowded the table, each laughing and joking with the other. Frodo sat at the opposite head of the table, flanked by Rosie and Sam. After Sam presented the first courses, Rosie announced that Bilbo should give a speech.

“A speech? Well. I think you remember what happened the last time I gave a speech,” Bilbo smiled, leading to some sniggers from the table and a quick explanation to Éowyn, “in truth, I don’t like speeches. But I like you all. So let us compromise. I’ll say a nice thing about each of you, and then I don’t need to talk any more?”

There were nods of approval around the table. Bilbo started with Pippin, sat to his immediate left.

“Pippin Took. I remember your mother telling me you stole her dresses and rolled down hills in them. I see you haven’t changed. I’m glad for that, because you are probably the only interesting Took left in the world.”

Pippin roared with laughter, and Bilbo continued.

“Merry Brandybuck. If I was a betting man, and I wanted to bet on whether the boy who broke my priceless Erebor plaque would grow up to marry a princess, I would not bet on that, because I never thought it would happen. Well done for being the only person at this table who has proved me wrong.”

“Éowyn, you're beautiful, you're wonderful, you could probably kill me if I say any more, so I’m going to stop.”

“Rosie. I remember when you and Sam were caught skinny dipping in the Brandywine. No, don’t deny it. I’m glad you two worked out in the end. I don’t want to overstate this, but we were _all_ waiting for it to happen.”

“Sam. Well, would you look at Sam. I remember when this boy was too scared to enter Bag End because his dad told him I had a dragon in the cellar. I think I came _this close_ to beating you with a stick because you wouldn’t stop calling me ‘Mister Bilbo.’ I’m glad I didn’t. You’re a fine man, Sam, and I think we all saw that coming.”

Bilbo turned to face Frodo, who felt everyone at the table turn to him.

“Frodo. Ah, Frodo. I don’t think there is a nice word I can say that you be enough, nor is there a good word that you would believe. We’ve danced this dance for decades, but all of you should realise that Frodo would rather clean a Sacksville-Baggins’ toes than listen to a nice word from me. But how about this? I’m not a conventional hobbit, and I’ve not had a conventional life, but Frodo, I don’t think there is a moment I haven’t thought of you as my son.”

Bilbo nodded, and sat down. He looked around the table, and had the sudden realisation that there wasn’t a dry eye amongst them. “Enough of this!” Bilbo exclaimed, “this is a party! Eat!”

They moved from course to course, swapping plates back and forward with chaotic ease. Roast duck swapped with mashed potatoes, cranberry preserve swapped with gravy and biscuits, and each took turns to fetch a new bottle of wine from the cellar. Bilbo sat at the head of the table, eyes flitting back and forth, and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath.

“What are you saying, Bilbo?” Pippin asked.

“Hm?” Bilbo looked at the other guests, “Oh, nothing. Thorin says hi.”

Pippin frowned and looked at Frodo, who shrugged. Bilbo had always had a habit of talking to himself, as if he was taking part in several conversations simultaneously. They resumed the party, excited by the prospect of fruit pies and custard for desert. Éowyn told everyone about Éomer’s recent letters, and the changes that were happening between Rohan and Gondor.

Dinner soon evolved into lounging around the fireplace. Pippin was describing with some animation the his plans for Merry and Éowyn’s wedding. Merry put a great deal of effort into moving the conversation onward, and Frodo suggested that he could fetch some Hobbiton Bronze Leaf from the market square.

“Please Frodo, we have guests,” Bilbo said disapprovingly, “we need something a bit stronger.”

“I don’t think there’s anything stronger within ten miles,” Merry joked, “things have changed since you left, Bilbo. Bag End is almost respectable now!”

“I lived here for one hundred years, Master Brandybuck,” Bilbo approached a tile on the fire place and struck it with his cane. The tile dislodged easily, revealing a gap. Bilbo reached in his hand and produced a small pouch of with a red dragon knitted on it. “I know things about Bag End that you could never dream of,” Bilbo grinned.

Pippin’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Is that… Gandalf’s Red Dragon batch?” he gasped, “I thought we smoked that during the winter of ’96?”

“That pipe-weed, which I will stress that you stole from me, was Tookland Black that I put in a red dragon bag,” Bilbo shook his head, tossing the bag to Pippin, “you’ve never had Gandalf’s actual pipe-weed.”

Pippin opened the pouched and inhaled deeply. Even from across the room Frodo’s eyes stung with the sharp aroma. “It’s so beautiful,” Pippin shuddered with delight, “I love you, crazy old man. Merry, prepare the pipes!”

“Oh no. Outside. You’re not smoking around me,” Rosie said, pointing at the porch.

“Rosie dear, after smoking this, I won’t care where I am,” Pippin curtseyed to the group and shooed Merry out of the front door. Éowyn and Bilbo followed suit, despite some protestation from Frodo that his uncle was too old to be smoking pipe-weed.

“What’s it going to do? Kill me?” Bilbo asked, before hopping out the front door and following Pippin and Merry’s laughter.

Frodo turned to Sam and Rosie, curled by the fireplace together. “You aren’t tempted, Sam?” Frodo asked.

“I can’t keep up with Pippin anymore,” Sam admitted, “being a dad has ruined my tolerance. The strongest I’ll go these days is whiskey.”

“I think you’re in luck,” Frodo stood, “Bilbo has been sitting on a dwarven collection for as long as I’ve been in Bag End.”

Frodo dusted off a stone bottle that seemed ancient amongst the sundries of Bag End. Uncorking the bottle released a the bellowing scent of a rich malt, with notes of oak and mountain snow. Pouring two measures, he set up the drinks before Sam, with a chamomile tea for Rosie. They sipped for a moment, listening to the slowly slurring conversation outside. Frodo watched embers crack and spark in the hearth, remembering the fires that he and Sam lit each night of their journey to Mount Doom. The good memories remained amongst the bad ones, clearer now the fog of the ring had lifted from his mind.

They wandered through different conversations. Frodo asked after Elanor’s education, which seemed to make Sam nervous. An education was not inexpensive in the Shire, and the Gardner’s were already expecting their third child. Rosie posited that Frodo might want to tutor Elanor for a summer, a suggestion that Frodo deflected.

“Bilbo is getting old. I want to spend this time with him,” Frodo lied, hoping that the whiskey had dulled Sam’s ability to sense his hesitations.

Rosie narrowed her eyes, before continuing the conversation. Marigold and Tom Cotton were due to be married in the fall. After their honeymoon they would take over responsibility for the Green Dragon, which would allow Rosie and Sam to spend more time with the children. Rosie assured Frodo that this was going to be their last child, after they had planned a journey to Minis Tirith to visit Aragorn. 

“We never really took a honeymoon after the wedding,” Sam explained, “I wanted to show Rosie Gondor, and Rivendell, and all those places we visited.”

“You’re going to love it, Rosie,” Frodo smiled, “although maybe Sam should avoid taking you to the dead marshes, or the goblin infested mines, or…”

“Frodo, I love you,” Pippin stumbled into the room, pupils almost the size of saucers, “but you’re so boring. You should all come outside. Merry is singing. It’s awful. It’s amazing. You need to see it.”

Frodo excused himself as Rosie and Sam followed Pippin into the garden. He gathered the glasses and took them to the kitchen. Once there, he lathered some soap into the water and started working on the worst dishes. He knew he could do this after the party, but it was nice to get a bit of space to clear his mind. Frodo turned to the central counter to grab the last of the plates, and returned to the sink.

A deathly face looked up at Frodo. It’s eyes were sunken and hollow, and it reached towards Frodo with long, withered fingers. The water was dark, and Frodo somehow knew he could reach his hand into that water and there would be no bottom, no rest, just cold darkness. The figure leered at Frodo, and in the terrible glow it’s pallid skin began to shed, revealing his mother’s face, drowning forever. Frodo felt his knees go weak as a plate slipped from his hands, shattering on the floor.

“Something in the water?”

Frodo turned to see Bilbo stood at the entrance to the kitchen. Frodo quickly glanced back into the sink, now soap suds and dirty dishes. The elder hobbit leaned heavy on his walking stick, and Frodo was all of a sudden aware of just how small his uncle had become. Frodo composed himself and began to explain that it was nothing, that he had cut his finger on a stray knife.

“I see Gollum sometimes,” Bilbo waved his hand, interrupting Frodo, “I wake up and he’ll be at the foot of my bed. I can’t move, so I just watch him. He’ll crawl to me, still stinking of that cave I found him in, and I’ll be so afraid. I sometimes think I’ll never die, but instead I’ll be afraid forever. I guess the ring is still part of us. It always will be.”

Bilbo crossed to Frodo and took his nephew’s hand in his own. Bilbo saw the same young hobbit that had arrived on his doorstep all those decades ago, the same hobbit that had scampered through Bag End, that had become the son Bilbo never imagined he would have. He knew the nightmares that haunted Frodo, the same terrible realisation that life would never return to normal.

“The elves are coming,” Bilbo said, hand on Frodo’s cheek, “you should tell Sam what we are about to do.”

Frodo looked at Bilbo. There was not a day that Frodo did not miss his parents, yet in Bag End he had found a father as close and as caring as any living thing could desire. “One more day,” Frodo said, embracing Bilbo, “I just need one more day.”

In the strange light of Bag End it seemed as if the years had never touched them, as the same hobbit that went on a grand adventure held his nephew, and all was as it could have been.

And so it was. Bag End, for a moment, became the home it always had been. It was home for those who lived in its walls, for those who saw its door, for those who knew of it in stories. In years to come, Bag End would echo with the selfsame kindness, and love, and care, that existed between those two hobbits who found family in the most unlikely of places. For Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, this was all they had ever needed, and it was this moment they would cherish, that night and all nights that came to pass.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at @AlexStoneWriter! Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> You can find the full list of Tolkientober prompts here: https://twitter.com/hobbitgay/status/1311350783238045696


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